


Fly

by TheGreatCatsby



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Mentions of suicide attempt, Panic Attacks, mentions of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 08:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6365911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatCatsby/pseuds/TheGreatCatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa's day started when he woke up for volleyball practice, and ended when he was admitted into a psychiatric hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fly

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags for warnings. Mental health is a very important subject to me and I found this rather cathartic so, I hope you enjoy it!

**Friday**

“Oikawa-kun, we're starting group therapy in five minutes in the common room.”

Oikawa lifts his head off the too-thin pillow, sits up. His heart seems to skip a beat as he looks for his shoes (no laces, not in here), and his skin crawls with the idea of having other people watch him when he's weak. He can't stand it. He wants to run. He wants to hide under the pathetic excuse for a blanket draped across the equally horrible bed.

He wants to go home.

Instead, he trudges down the hall, pushes open the door that looks like it could belong in a prison, and enters the common room. Eight other people sit in a deformed circle, some using the couches, others having pulled up chairs. The therapist takes his place next to the television, which is switched off.

Oikawa sits on the corner of one of the couches, rests his arms on his legs and leans forward, trying to avoid looking at anyone. The therapist asks them each to introduce themselves, talk about how their day has been, and rate it on a scale of one to ten.

Oikawa doesn't want to talk about how his day has been. His day started when he woke up in his own bed and ended when he had a panic attack outside of the university gym because he didn't think he was getting enough training during spring break, and somehow that panic had gotten away from him and Iwaizumi took him to the hospital. And yeah, breaks meant more panic, because it meant less distractions and he felt useless and his insecurities festered. But that didn't mean mental hospital.

The doctors thought it meant mental hospital.

“Oikawa-kun, you're new,” the therapist says. “We'll start with you.”

Oikawa keeps his eyes on the therapist as he says, “I'm Oikawa Tooru. My day was...a three? I don't really understand this. I just got admitted here so it wasn't really good and I just want it to be over.”

“Have you talked about goals for your time here?”

“To get out,” Oikawa says, frowning.

The therapist nods, makes a note. “That is the goal of every patient here, but we like to set small goals for each day, building up to that point. Goals are usually discussed in the morning sessions, but you weren't here for that. It would be good for you to think of a goal for tomorrow that you would like to accomplish, something manageable that isn't as big as going home.”

Oikawa thinks that going home shouldn't be a big thing, but he doesn't say that. He just nods, and the therapist calls on the next patient.

The other patients describe their days, but it's secondary to the buzzing in Oikawa's head. He wants to go home. He doesn't want to be here. He isn't getting enough practice. He'll fall behind. He'll-

“I'm Koushi.” A familiar voice brings those thoughts crashing to a halt. Oikawa looks up and sees an ash-blond young man sitting a few spaces away, knees drawn up to his chest, picking at his sweater. “Um, I would rate my day a, um, four.”

That's low for Refreshing-kun, is Oikawa's first thought. His second thought is, wait, why is Refreshing-kun, Karasuno's #2, Sugawara Koushi, in a mental hospital? And his third thought is, once again, why am I in a mental hospital?

“Why is it a four, Koushi-kun?” the therapist asks.

“I'm having trouble concentrating,” Sugawara says, like the words need to be pried out of him. “I still feel...bad. And guilty. I talked to my best friend. My friend is...really good with me. That's what made the day better.”

“And did you accomplish your goal for today? I see that it was to write some of your thoughts in a notebook for an hour.”

“No. I couldn't concentrate, and I ended up falling asleep.”

Oikawa frowns. There's something quiet to the way Sugawara talks that doesn't add up with his memories. Sugawara had been loud on the court, confident, and annoyingly optimistic in a way that made Oikawa want to defeat him even more.

Then they move on, but as Oikawa continues to stare Sugawara turns, sees Oikawa, and his eyes widen.

Oikawa hurries out of the room when they're done, a nurse sidelines him to have him take some medicine. He takes it, then runs back to his room, not wanting to interact with anybody.

Not tonight.

*

**Saturday**

“I thought you were going to hurt yourself.”

Oikawa stares at the dialpad of the phone because he can't stare at Iwaizumi because Iwaizumi isn't there.

“Oh.”

If he's being honest, and apparently in this place you can be nothing else, Oikawa doesn't remember exactly what happened outside the gym yesterday. He doesn't know what he said or did that scared Iwaizumi so badly.

“I'm sorry,” Iwaizumi says. “But then you sounded like you couldn't breathe and I-”

“Don't be,” Oikawa cuts him off. He can handle a lot of things, but Iwaizumi feeling guilty isn't one of them.

_You can't handle anything, look at where you are,_ his brain chimes in.

“Then I won't,” Iwaizumi says. “Make use of it.”

“Visit me later?” Oikawa asks.

“Well your mom said she would.”

“Take turns,” Oikawa says. He waits a moment, hesitating, then asks, “And dad?”

“I don't know,” Iwaizumi says.

“Right.” Which means he probably won't come, because he can't handle the thought of his son being weak. Not wanting to think about that any further, Oikawa turns towards the wall and lowers his voice. “You'll never guess who's here, Iwa-chan.”

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi guesses.

Oikawa laughs, then covers his mouth. “No! That's a good one, though. Refreshing-kun.”

“Refreshing...”

“Iwa-chan I know it's been some time but surely you remember-”

“Oh, that guy. He seemed pretty...”

“Stable? I'm curious about why he's here.” Oikawa sighs. “Though honestly, this is the last place I want to see people I know.”

“Maybe you'll make friends,” Iwaizumi says. “Then again, with your shitty personality-”

“Iwa-chan, don't be so cruel!” Oikawa scoffs. “Besides, why would I want to? In this situation? He knows too much already.”

“I doubt he'll use it against you.”

“People always want to use things against me.”

“You think too much of yourself.”

“I'll tell that to my therapist.” Out of the corner of his eye, Oikawa catches movement. People walking towards the small dining area. “I think it's breakfast time, Iwa-chan. I gotta go.”

“I'll see you later. Don't make too many enemies.”

“I would n-” Iwaizumi hangs up. Oikawa places the phone back on the cradle and stands.

The idea of eating a crappy breakfast surrounded by strangers doesn't appeal to him, especially if they're going to ask him what he's here for. That's the last thing he wants to answer.

He grabs a tray of oatmeal, yoghurt, a fruit cup, and fruit juice and manages to find an empty table in the corner of the room. It stays empty for all of one minute, when two strangers, a young woman and an older man, sit next to him. They fall into a gentle conversation with each other, the sort of small talk that happens when people are still half-asleep. The other tables have filled up as well.

Oikawa goes to work on his oatmeal, which isn't as horrible as he thought it would be. What is horrible is how a few minutes later, someone sits opposite him, and Oikawa makes the mistake of looking up.

He makes eye contact with Sugawara.

When he does, he's so shocked that he can't even look away.

Sugawara lowers his gaze to his own oatmeal, his lips twitching slightly. “Morning,” he says.

Oikawa feels his heart start to beat faster. What does he say? “Long time no see?” “Funny seeing you in a place like this?” “What have you been up to?”

“Morning?” he chokes out.

Sugawara stirs his oatmeal, lifts up a spoonful and allows it to plop back down. Then he drops the spoon, takes a sip of his drink instead. Oikawa still hasn't looked away. Sugawara is sickly pale, the area under his eyes bruised. He looks too thin. He's wearing another sweater.

His eyes flicker back up to Oikawa's face. “I would ask how you are,” he says, “but I don't think this is the best place to ask those questions.”

“Really?” Oikawa bites out. It comes out a bit sarcastic. He doesn't mind that. “Why can't we just act like normal people?”

“I didn't think you wanted me to ask,” Sugawara says.

Oikawa narrows his eyes because it's true. But he says, “Not true. How are you, Sugawara-san?”

“You can call me Suga,” Sugawara says. He stirs his oatmeal. “I'm tired. I don't know if I'm feeling much of anything right now.”

“Okay. Ask how I am.” Oikawa shoves a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth.

“How are you, Oikawa-san?” Suga asks.

“You can call me Oikawa, and I'm fine. Well rested. I want to get back to practice.”

“Practice?” Suga frowns. “You still play volleyball?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“No,” Suga says. “I'm just wondering...”

“Wondering what?” Oikawa leans forward.

“Wondering,” Suga says slowly, “if volleyball is the reason you're here.”

“Nope,” Oikawa says. Even though his panic attack took place outside of the gym. He needn't mention that. He lowers his voice. “How long are people in here, anyway?”

Suga shrugs. “It's a relatively short-term place. I don't think anyone stays longer than a month.”

“A month?” Oikawa drops his spoon. “You mean people can be in here for up to a month?” His heart speeds up again, throat closing at the thought that they won't let him go for four weeks. That's four weeks of practice lost. He'll be benched.

“Sometimes they're transferred into longer term care,” Suga continues, and Oikawa feels nauseous. “Places that will take you for a few months.” He seems to notice Oikawa's discomfort. “It really depends. A lot of people aren't in care for that long.”

“How long have you been here?” Oikawa blurts out without meaning to. But he can't take it back, because he needs to know the answer.

“Five days,” Suga says.

“Five days,” Oikawa chokes. Even that seems too long. A week. “Why would-”

“Morning goal group, five minutes,” a nurse says from the door.

Suga stands up, grabs his tray, and heads out before Oikawa can repeat his question.

*

Oikawa's morning goal is to talk to his therapist about a concrete plan. This seems acceptable. It gives him some sort of hope that maybe he'll be able to get out soon.

Suga's goal is the same as yesterday: write in his notebook. Oikawa wonders why his goal is so small. It seems insignificant. A few of the other patients have similar goals like finish a page of a coloring book or a piece of artwork, call a family member.

He doesn't voice that out loud. No one else seems to think anything of it, and he wonders if he's missing something.

*

There is probably some sort of ettiquette dealing with requesting to be let go from a mental hospital, but Oikawa isn't aware of it.

So when his therapist sits him down the first thing he says is, “I can't be in here for four weeks.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Why do you think you're going to be in here for four weeks?”

“Then how long will I be here?”

“That depends on how your recovery progresses,” she says. “There is no fixed time period.”

“I can't miss practice,” Oikawa says. “It's fine now because it's the weekend but then I need to go to practice. I need to know these things.”

“Oikawa-kun, your recovery is what's important here.”

“Recovery from what? So I panicked, doesn't everyone?”

She looks at him, and he knows that no, not everyone has a full breakdown at the thought of being pulled away from volleyball practice, at the thought of not doing enough or being enough. He knows that, but he also doesn't want to be the person who can't handle these things.

But he is.

*

Generalized Anxiety Disorder. That's what the therapist tells him he has, at first glance. That's what all his medications and therapy sessions will be geared towards handling. That's what he needs to learn to deal with. His therapist gives him a workbook on something called Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and Oikawa has always been good at memorizing so when she explains the concepts to him, he takes it in. But it grates on him.

It's a weakness, he thinks, and he wouldn't be in here if he just knew how to deal with things like everyone else.

They have free time in the afternoon and Oikawa thinks about calling Iwaizumi, but instead he wanders into the common area. There's a table with art supplies where a few people have gathered, a bookshelf, and the couches. There's also a television, currently showing some nonsense daytime gameshow.

No sign of Sugawara.

Not that Oikawa wants to see him. He doesn't really want to talk to anybody. His brain is still processing the whole anxiety thing, one part of it telling him that this explains everything and the other part denying it. It's oddly quiet, which gets on Oikawa's nerves a bit, like everyone is too tired or too much in their own heads to say anything. So he turns around and heads to his room.

Except there's nothing in his room. He doesn't even have a book with him, given how short-notice the trip to the hospital had been. He heads back to the common room, wondering if the nurses will think he is worse off for going back and forth.

He can't believe that they allow everyone this much free time. Surely it gets people thinking about what they could be doing if they were outside. His therapist had mentioned that it was meant for reflection, but Oikawa only thinks about how he could be practicing his serve again.

“Too much practice and you'll fuck up your knee again,” Iwaizumi had said, “or your ankle, and then what? You'll never be able to play again. Permanently benched.” It was logical, what he'd said, but Oikawa at the time couldn't follow that logic.

He still can't. Not really. His hands clench as he stands in front of the bookshelf, itching for a toss. None of the books look interesting. He was never a big reader.

He ends up sitting on the couch, staring at the television, empty handed.

*

Suga reappears for dinner. He eats a little more this time. Oikawa is starving, used to consuming more food than this, so he finishes in no time. They sit across from each other again, but they don't talk.

Oikawa wonders what Suga spent his day doing. If he spent it feeling just as useless as Oikawa did. Or if he's actually able to reflect on himself.

The words get caught in his throat. He should just ask, but he can't, and it feels like a whole first day wasted and not just this one question, and then dinner is over.

His mother visits, and it's hard to look her in the eye, but all she wants is for him to get better. It's difficult, because they sit in the dining room and there are other patients and their visitors scattered around. But it's fine, until his mother leaves and Iwaizumi comes in, and trailing behind him are Suga and Sawamura.

“Shit,” Oikawa hisses, ducking his head. Iwaizumi bops him on the forehead. “What!”

“I already said hi to Sawamura in the elevator,” Iwaizumi says. “I couldn't exactly hide.”

“Aren't you embarassed?” Oikawa moans.

“Of what?” Iwaizumi demands. “You? No. Stop thinking shitty thoughts like that. Sawamura's not embarrassed, either. Shit happens.”

“Shit happens,” Oikawa repeats.

“No one would feel embarrassed about visiting you in the hospital for other reasons,” Iwaizumi says, “and this shouldn't be any different.”

“Iwa-chan-”

“Don't you dare argue with me, Shittykawa. Don't you dare be ashamed.”

Oikawa looks past Iwaizumi's glare to Suga and Sawamura, both leaning close to each other across one of the other tables, talking in low voices. Suga's shoulders are tensed, and Sawamura seems calm. Oikawa can't see either of their faces, but he's curious.

“Crappykawa,” Iwaizumi says, bringing Oikawa's attention back to the two of them. “How is it, here?”

“Boring as hell, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa complains, “and they won't tell me when I can get out. The food is okay.” He shrugs. “The amount of free time makes me wish I could use it for something, though.”

“You're supposed to use it to think about yourself, right?” Iwaizumi says.

“There are better things I could be doing.”

“Don't be an ass. You won't get anything out of this place if you don't think about yourself.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs, leaning forward, “they told me I have anxiety.”

“No shit,” Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa's eyes widen. “You _knew_? Is Iwa-chan a therapist?”

Iwaizumi hits him lightly on the arm. “I know you.”

“Fine. In that case,” Oikawa props his chin on his hands, “tell me about life on the outside, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi nearly smacks him.

Too soon their hour is up, Iwaizumi leaves, and then the nurse calls them to evening group and Suga doesn't sit next to him when they take their places around the common room.

If Oikawa had to rate his day, which he does, he'd rate it a 3, but he doesn't think 3's get released from hospital. But he's towards the end and not really listening until the therapist reaches Suga and asks how his day was.

“A six,” Suga says, a small smile on his face. “Because I could concentrate better. I talked to my best friend again, which was good. I managed to write some things in my notebook and that was helpful, too. So I completed my goal for the day.”

A six, up from a four, and a bunch of small things that Suga considers good. Oikawa wonders what that means in the doctors' eyes. He feels like those small things wouldn't amount to much for him. But he wonders if Suga is lying in order to get out. He wonders if he should lie.

“An eight,” he says, when the therapist calls on him. “Because I talked to my friend and my mom and he knows what's going on, and my therapist knows what's wrong with me so I think that'll make for a good recovery. I kind of accomplished my goal? We don't have a concrete plan but we kind of have one.”

The therapist nods, and then asks a follow up that Oikawa hadn't been expecting. “What emotions did you feel today?”

Oikawa blinks. “Emotions?”

“If you felt nothing, you can say that as well.”

“No, I...felt emotions,” Oikawa swallows. Is anxiety an emotion? Surely that's an emotion that will get him locked in this place longer. “I felt...happy. About my friend. Bored, because we had a lot of free time. Um.”

“Any anxiety?”

“A little.” Oikawa answers before he can censor himself. The therapist nods and moves on, and Oikawa feels the tightness in his chest. That damn anxiety. Because what if that just ruined his chances of getting out before Monday? He has one more day to get better, and if he doesn't-

If he doesn't, he's not sure what he'll do.

Monday is everything.

*

**Sunday**

Oikawa wakes up the next morning like a man on a mission. It doesn't matter that the previous night he slept poorly because the medication made him nauseous and gave him a headache and then made him tired enough that waking up was hard. It doesn't matter that breakfast is difficult to get down because his heart is stuck in his throat and Suga isn't even there to distract him. It doesn't matter that they don't have morning group. It doesn't matter that Oikawa keeps looking at the clock until finally, around mid-morning, he marches up to the front nurses's station and asks where his therapist is.

“It's Sunday,” the nurse says. “They won't be coming in until tomorrow.”

It doesn't matter that Oikawa feels like the ground has fallen out from underneath his feet.

He somehow manages the walk back to his room, collapses onto his bed, feeling ill. Shaking. This damn anxiety. It's not his problem. It's not a problem. He wouldn't have it if he was just allowed to go home. He closes his eyes and takes shuddering breaths and he can't breathe and it's not his problem but he feels like the world is ending and there are tears on his cheeks, hot and sticky and he can't stop sobbing, whole body convulsing and someone's hand is on his arm but he can't even hear their voice, he isn't even sure if they're speaking his language.

Someone forces him to sit up and tries to give him a cup, but his hands shake too badly. He hears the words “pill” and “to calm you down.” He blinks, and his blurry vision clears for a moment. Someone is holding a pill. He grabs it, shoves it in his mouth, swallows it dry. Slowly, he can breathe again. He can see. The face of the nurse watching him with concern becomes clear.

He swipes his arm across his face, glances around the room. There's a desk beyond the foot of his bed, and on top of it, the workbook his therapist gave him. Coping skills. He'd completely forgotten about those. Needed to be drugged into submission.

He knows he is feeling angry at himself, but the feeling is somewhat dulled. Now he just feels tired. The nurse allows him to be alone, tells him to keep his door open. He stands and makes his way unsteadily towards the desk, sits down and flips open the workbook.

Better late than never.

For once he doesn't feel like he's going to choke on the weight of time passing, of Monday coming closer. So he decides to read.

*

It isn't just him. The group that night seems subdued.

“I know what most of you are thinking,” the group therapist says. “Tomorrow starts a new week. More opportunities to go home. But remember, you can only go home when it's best for you. Which means when your illness is under control, when it would be safe for you to leave here. If you need to stay, you need to stay. It's important to accept that you need time to heal.”

This time Oikawa is among the first. He doesn't even have the strength to pretend like it wasn't a hard day. “I'd rate today a three,” he says. “I freaked out because I wanted to see my therapist but she wasn't coming in, and I wanted to go home by tomorrow. I had to take a pill to calm down. But then I read this workbook she gave me to learn some coping skills and it made sense.”

“Do you feel like you've accepted that you may not go home tomorrow?” the therapist asks.

Oikawa is surprised at himself when he answers, “Yes.”

The therapist nods, and then moves on. Three people later it's Suga's turn.

“My day was a five,” he says. “I did some more writing, a bit of reading. It was easier to concentrate.”

“And emotions?” the therapist prompts.

Suga shrugs. “Sad. Guilty. Inadequate.”

“From what I can see, you've brought up guilt a lot in these group sessions. Guilt for being in here?”

Suga shakes his head. “Guilt for what I did.” His voice sounds strained. “For worrying people so much. I don't want to be a burden.”

“You're not a burden.”

“That's what it feels like. That's what my p-parents said. And now D-daichi has to come to the hospital when he could be doing something more important and maybe he's just t-too polite to s-say it-”

“Sugawara-kun,” the therapist interrupts. “We talked about this a few days ago. He wouldn't come if he thought it was a waste of time.”

Suga nods. “I know. I'm just...I think I've been alone too much today.”

“Sundays are hard,” the therapist says. “There's less going on, more time to be alone with our thoughts. Which is good, in a way. We need to learn to cope with those thoughts on our own. But it can also be challenging. You all made it through today. You're all here. And you're all sharing, opening up honestly. Be proud of that.”

Suga nods, curled in on himself. The therapist moves on.

Sundays, Oikawa thinks, are the actual worst.

*

**Monday**

Monday should be the actual worst, because Oikawa wants to go home and he's 99% sure he won't be able to. He knows there is a practice, 9am-5pm. Suga sits across from him at breakfast, looking somewhat revived.

“We have art therapy today,” he says when Oikawa asks him why he looks pleased.

“You're artistic?” Oikawa asks.

Suga actually laughs, a light pleasant sound. “Oh no, not at all. But I enjoy painting things. It's soothing somehow.”

Oikawa chews thoughtfully on his oatmeal. “Soothing, huh?”

Suga nods. “So, are you feeling better?”

“From what?”

“Yesterday.”

Of course, because Oikawa had confessed his problems yesterday.

“I'm sorry,” Suga says after a moment, “but we all want the same thing. Mostly. To recover. And I think a lot of people like seeing it when the other people here start to get better, and they get sad if they get worse. I guess it's weird because none of us really know each other. But I can't help it, I do know you.”

“Not well,” Oikawa points out.

“No,” Suga agrees. “But we're all in here. We're all sick. There's no use denying that, and there's nothing wrong with it.”

“There's nothing wrong with being in a mental hospital?” Oikawa snaps.

“There's nothing wrong with taking steps to get better,” Suga says, his eyes drilling into Oikawa's. Oikawa feels a sudden chill down his spine.

“I didn't put myself here,” Oikawa says quietly.

“No one wants to be in this situation,” Suga says, “but we are. It's up to you whether or not you use it.”

“Are you using it?”

“I am. Are you?”

A challenge. Oikawa is used to those but not in this context. He'd rather it be on a court, staring at Suga from across the net. But here they are separated by nothing more than a table and trays of shitty food.

“I am,” he says.

Suga nods, giving Oikawa a small smile, and the nurse comes in to tell them to go to the common room for art therapy.

Art therapy doesn't involve a lot of formal art. Oikawa finds this out when he complains, upon seeing thick paper and paints laid out, that he can't draw.

Suga's smile is wider when he sits opposite Oikawa. Today they're meant to paint a natural landscape. Apparently, by talking about it afterwards, they'll be able to determine something about each others' state of mind.

Oikawa isn't sure he wants anyone interpreting his state of mind given that what he puts on the paper amounts to nothing more than abstract shades of green and some pink dots, for cherry blossoms. It's spring in his painting, he explains, even though there's not much to go by.

“Spring is new beginnings,” Suga says. His paper is grays and browns, dotted with white specks. Winter.

The art therapist looks pleased at this. Oikawa frowns at Suga's artwork. “Winter is...sorry, I'm not good at metaphors.”

“A clean slate,” the art therapist supplies.

Suga looks thoughtful. “A clean slate,” he repeats.

“What were you thinking when you did this?” the therapist asks.

Suga laughs. “I was thinking that I really like how everything looks covered in snow.”

*

“I don't want to sound rude,” Oikawa says quietly over lunch, “but why are some peoples' goals so...” He waves his hands, trying to think of the right word.

“Small?” Suga raises an eyebrow. He's not eating much again, listlessly poking at the meal.

“Sure.”

“Not all of us are champions.” It comes out more sarcastically than Oikawa would have thought possible of Suga.

“I didn't mean that.”

“Sorry,” Suga sighs. “Neither did I. I think the first day we're all here we all say something like 'go home.' They teach you the importance of small steps. Taking things one thing at a time.”

“Does that work?” Oikawa asks, genuinely curious.

Suga shrugs. “It's less overwhelming. Especially when you feel like you can't do anything at all.”

*

“Apparently I want new beginnings.”

Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows from across the table. Oikawa feels more free to talk, because it's only the two of them.

“What did you do today?” Iwaizumi asks.

Oikawa explains art therapy with Suga, lunch with Suga, the one-to-one therapy, a visit from the psychiatrist, and the awkward dinner that was awkward because Suga hadn't shown up and Oikawa hadn't wanted to talk to complete strangers.

“Art therapy, Iwa-chan, is apparently very insightful,” he says. “I painted spring. New beginnings.”

“I didn't know you could paint.”

“I can't.” Oikawa sighs, and breaks off a piece of milk bread. Iwaizumi had lovingly bought him some after hearing Oikawa's complaints about the food on the phone. “When I get out I'm gonna get some coffee. Something really disgustingly sweet and over-caffeinated. You know they don't serve caffeinated coffee here?”

“Probably because it sets off anxiety,” Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa chews another piece of milk bread. “Does it now?”

“How do you not know that?”

“How do you know that?”

“I've been reading,” Iwaizumi mutters.

Oikawa's eyes widen and he nearly drops the food in his hand. “Reading?”

“I want to know what's going on with you,” Iwaizumi says, narrowing his eyes. “I want to help. Don't make a bigger deal out of it than it is.”

“It is a big deal,” Oikawa insists, dropping his piece of bread and grabbing Iwaizumi's hand. “I didn't know you cared so much!”

“Like hell you didn't know.” Iwaizumi snatches his hand away.

“Well, some people could say,” Oikawa lowers his eyes to the table, “that you didn't want it to be your problem once you dropped me off here.”

Iwaizumi slams his hand on the table, startling the both of them, and leans forward. “Never think that. I couldn't give you what you needed, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to help you any way I can. I'd never do something like that.”

Oikawa meets his eyes, sees nothing but conviction there, and smiles. “Thank you.” Then his smile wavers. “How...how was practice today?”

“Boring, without you there,” Iwaizumi huffs. “The other setter doesn't toss the way I like it.”

“I knew it,” Oikawa says. “Are they angry?”

“At you? Hell no. They're concerned. Obviously coach wants you back but he understands.”

“You didn't tell him, did you?” Oikawa hisses.

“I did,” Iwaizumi says. “You can't just go lying about these things. He's fine with it. Don't start getting into whatever it was that got you so upset Friday.”

“I'm not,” Oikawa says, but his voice is tight.

“You can take your time,” Iwaizumi insists. “A few missed practices won't kill you. You're still valuable to the team. Just don't..rush it, okay?”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa moans, “what if I can't get back to normal? I mean, the psychiatrist wants me to be on medication for who-knows-how-long, and they want me to do therapy sessions after I leave, and I have this workbook on how to cope because I'm not good at that.”

Iwaizumi blinks. “Were you ever normal?”

Oikawa's mouth drops open. “How mean!”

But it is oddly reassuring, that none of that stuff bothers Iwaizumi. It's not normal, but when was he ever?

Or maybe it's just a new normal.

*

At evening group, Suga doesn't say a word to Oikawa. He sits as far away from everyone as possible, curled up into a corner of one of the couches, knees drawn up and face hidden in his arms. His shoulders shake.

The therapist decides to start with him. “Sugawara-kun-”

Suga flinches, and his head jerks up. He quickly swipes his arm across his face, but Oikawa can still see the tears.

“Sugawara-kun,” the therapist prompts again, “what's going on?”

Suga's breath hitches. “I-I don't know.” The therapist waits. The whole room waits. Then, “I-I started to feel...hopeless. And scared. And I d-don't want...” He cuts himself off.

“Don't want what?”

Suga shrugs, shakes his head, and whispers something that none of them can hear.

“I didn't catch that.”

“I don't want to be this way.”

Oikawa feels sick. Something about those words coming out of Suga's mouth is wrong. Up until this point, he'd thought that Suga was well on his way to getting out. The talking, the art therapy, it had all seemed like Suga had a handle on things. Apparently, he was wrong.

He starts to wonder if it'll hit him, too, a resurgance of everything he never wants to feel again, and trap him here.

The therapist murmurs a soft “thank you” to Suga and moves on. Oikawa's day had been an 8, but now it feels like a much lower number. He doesn't say that. He doesn't say that he's worried about Suga because they know each other, even though they don't know each other well. Or they didn't.

Now, Oikawa cares.

He thinks that it would be hard not to, in a place like this.

The session finishes and Suga rushes for the door. Oikawa springs up after him. “Suga-”

“No!” Suga jerks away and pushes through the doors into the corridor.

Oikawa thinks about following, but he doesn't.

*

**Tuesday**

Suga doesn't show up at breakfast. Perhaps it's because he's groggy and there's no coffee, or perhaps because he remembers Suga's words from yesterday, but Oikawa finishes his breakfast early and heads into the corridor to find Suga's room.

Each room has the names of the residents written on whiteboards next to the door, and there aren't many rooms, so it isn't hard. Suga, like Oikawa, doesn't have a roommate and his door is ajar, likely because the nurses don't like closed doors. Oikawa knocks, then pushes the door completely open.

Suga is curled up underneath his blanket, facing the wall.

Oikawa makes his way towards Suga's bed and sits on the edge. “Suga-chan?”

Suga flinches. “I thought you were a nurse.” His voice is muffled, dull. “What are you doing here?”

“You told me that we need to use our time here,” Oikawa says, “so I can't just let you stay in bed.”

“I'm a hyprocit,” Suga says, “and a coward. I said those things and I can't even leave my bed. I can't even leave this hospital.”

“You can.”

“The feelings will just come back.”

“Suga-chan.” Oikawa sighs. “Isn't that why they set you up with therapy afterwards? And a psychiatrist?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I do. Just like you said you care about the people here. Probably because I know what you're like when you're not in this place, too.”

“I'll never be that person again,” Suga mutters.

“You are, to me,” Oikawa says. “Every time you've talked to me. It doesn't matter that you're here. You told me that it's not a bad thing.”

Suga flinches again.

“Maybe talking about it will help?” Oikawa asks. “Besides with the therapists, because they're paid to do it and sometimes it's nice to talk to someone else. I'm honest with Iwa-chan. And I bet you're honest with Sawamura-kun.”

“Not as honest as I should be. But what if he gets scared?” Suga curls into himself even more.

“I thought Iwa-chan would, and he didn't. But I don't really have a filter around him and he'd know if I was hiding something,” Oikawa says. “But you know I don't know a lot about this stuff so if you tell me and I freak out, then...I mean maybe Sawamura-kun won't freak out or maybe he will but I also have anxiety so...”

Suga huffs out a sound that might be related to laughter. It gets Oikawa's hopes up.

“What are you so scared of, anyway? Whatever got you in here happening again? I am, too. I scared Iwa-chan, and I didn't mean to.” He sighs. “I'll share mine if you want.”

“Your...?”

“How I got here. Um. I don't actually remember everything,” Oikawa says haltingly, “but I know that I wanted to stay late to practice. The university team I'm with is really good, the standards are really high, and I got it into my head that the coach was gonna bench me for not practicing enough which, now that I think about it doesn't make sense, because I practice just as much as the rest of the team. But I didn't want to leave the gym and Iwa-chan dragged me out and I...I,” he swallows, “I don't even know what I said. I just felt like I was dying. I couldn't breathe. I think I tried to run away. I don't know. Iwa-chan took me to the hospital and they put me in here.”

As he tells his story, Suga turns around to face Oikawa. His eyes are dry, but he looks like he hasn't slept. He half-sits up as Oikawa finishes his story.

“I'm sorry,” he says softly. “Anxiety?”

“Yeah. I freaked out about not being able to get back in time for Monday practice, too,” Oikawa says. “They had to give me a pill to keep me from completely losing it.”

Suga sits all the way up, blanket pooling in his lap. “It's good that Iwaizumi has been here for you.”

Oikawa nods. “He's always been. He's good like that.”

Suga looks down at his lap, pulls at the sleeves of his sweater so that they cover his hands. “Well,” he says, voice cracking a bit, “before this I was in the hospital for a few days because, um, I...swallowed a lot of painkillers.”

The blood drains from Oikawa's face. “What?”

Suga nods. “I just, I mean, I've had bad feelings about myself before but I thought it was just normal insecurity. Then it got worse. Maybe it was the stress of being in university. I'm in the med program. Or maybe it would have happened anyway. I started thinking really badly of myself, about not being good enough or worthy, that there wasn't a point in me being around anymore. Sometimes I slept just to not have to be awake and feeling things or thinking.”

Oikawa's hands curl into fists. Suga's words make something in his chest ache.

“It wasn't just,” Suga continues, “that I tried to end it. They're concerned because I hurt myself a lot, too. And it's really hard not to think about it.”

“Hurt yourself?” Oikawa repeats. His mouth is dry.

“It's getting better,” Suga says, quickly looking at Oikawa and then away again. “I haven't thought about as much since I got here, so the medicine and therapy helps. But they want to make sure I'm safe, you know?”

“What did you do?” Oikawa asks.

“I...you can see if you want but, it's gruesome. I cut myself.” He stares at his lap.

“I...okay.”

Slowly, with shaking hands, Suga pushes back the sleeve of his left arm. Oikawa feels his whole body jerk at the sight. The cuts on Suga's arms aren't in thin, orderly lines like Oikawa imagined they might be, like he'd seen a few times in school the rare occasions that this was brought up. The cuts on Suga's skin are dark, scarring and angry, running vertical up the underside of his arm like frantic slashes made over and over again in anger.

Quickly, Suga jerks his sleeve back down, covering the skin. “Daichi doesn't know that,” he says. “No one knows that outside of here.”

“Why not?” Oikawa asks.

“It's stupid now that I think about it, not asking for help,” Suga says. “But we all got in here because we weren't thinking clearly, didn't we?” His eyes are bright when he looks up at Oikawa. “It's oddly relieving, to get it out like that.”

“Lying is hard,” Oikawa says. “Hiding things is hard.” Hiding the extent of his panic at times had been really hard, and only Iwaizumi had known, and even then he hadn't known everything. Not until Oikawa's breakdown.

“It is,” Suga says. He takes a deep breath. “Yesterday I started feeling hopeless and I was scared. What if I want to do stuff like this again?”

Oikawa nods.

“It's safe here,” Suga says, “but I don't want to be here forever.”

“You don't trust yourself if you get out?” Oikawa asks.

“I don't know,” Suga admits. “Maybe I'm just scared of trusting myself. I never really did.”

A knock on the door startles them both, and a nurse pokes her head in. “Oikawa Tooru, your therapist would like to see you.”

Oikawa nods and stands up. “Suga-chan,” he says, “I don't want my only substantial interactions with you to be in here so, let's try to get out, okay?”

“Okay.”

*

He's going home.

Three meetings with four different people and a lot of forms and Iwaizumi is on his way. Oikawa has already made plans to go for coffee (“Decaf frappucino, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi had said) and dinner at his favorite ramen place. Taking time, like his therapist had suggested, to relax before going back to his normal routine the next day.

His bag slung over his shoulder, he stands near the front desk, trying not to fidget so hard.

“Oikawa.”

The soft voice makes Oikawa turn. Suga stands there, eyes wide. And then he breaks into a huge smile. “You're leaving!”

“I am,” Oikawa says, confused as to why Suga is smiling like he's just heard the best news in the world when earlier that morning he hadn't even been able to get out of bed.

“That's great!” Suga takes a few steps closer, then pauses. “I know you'll do well.”

“So will you,” Oikawa says. “You're not far behind.”

Suga's smile falters.

Oikawa points a finger at Suga's chest. “None of that doubt stuff!”

Suga laughs. “You're right, you're right.”

“And then we can meet up,” Oikawa says. “I'll, um, well you don't have your phone so...”

“Daichi has Iwaizumi's number,” Suga says, “so I can get yours from him.”

“Oh.” Oikawa blinks. “Are the two of them friends or something?”

“They might have formed a weird bond over visiting us,” Suga says.

“Oh.” Time is running out. Iwaizumi should arrive any minute.

“Listen, Oikawa,” Suga starts, but Oikawa steps forward, places his hands on Suga's shoulders.

“Thank you,” Oikawa says. Suga stares up at him, cheeks dusted pink, and Oikawa has the urge to kiss him suddenly. Like just saying words isn't enough.

“Right,” Suga says. “Thank you.”

“I-I'll see you later,” Oikawa adds, and he should let go of Suga now but he doesn't.

Suga's gaze shifts, and his eyes widen. “Iwaizumi-san!”

Oikawa turns around and as he does, Suga gently pries himself away. Oikawa feels his heart sink a bit at the loss of contact, but Iwaizumi is standing there, hands shoved into his coat pockets.

“You ready?”

“Yeah.” Oikawa turns around to say a final goodbye, but Suga has disappeared. Iwaizumi starts walking towards the front doors and Oikawa trails behind.

It isn't until they're outside that Iwaizumi turns to Oikawa and hisses, “Why didn't you kiss him?”

“Wh-what?”

“You looked like you were going to,” Iwaizumi says, “but you just stared at him.”

“How long were you standing there?”

Iwaizumi shrugs.

“You have the wrong idea, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says. “Anyway, that's not important. What is important, is my sweet sweet decaf coffee.”

Iwaizumi shrugs again.

And Oikawa can't shake the feeling that it is important. It is important, and he can't leave it behind just because he's left the hospital.

*

**Release**

Adjusting to being out is surprisingly hard even though he's only been gone a few days. Maybe it's because he keeps expecting people to judge him for it, but his teammates and coach just seem happy that he's back.

The only person who knows he's still a bit shaky from adjusting to medication in Iwaizumi, and the shakiness is more emotional than anything. He can still play, and volleyball does help ease his mind somewhat. And now, he listens when Iwaizumi tells him that enough is enough, practice is over, and they need to go do homework or eat.

That part is easier than before, and it's an encouraging sign. There's still that annoying part of his brain that starts up with, “you're not doing enough, go back and practice more or they'll kick you out,” but it's easier than before to listen to Iwaizumi than to those thoughts.

There are other things he can't stop thinking about. He can't stop thinking about Suga, looking up at him with that soft smile. He can't stop thinking about when Suga will get out. He can't stop thinking about the injuries to Suga's arm. He can't stop thinking about the dullness in Suga's eyes or the tears that ran down his cheeks. He can't stop thinking about Suga's soft voice giving him gentle encouragement.

He can't stop thinking about every part of Suga.

He just wants a text from Suga to arrive telling Oikawa that he's out, that they can meet somewhere else.

So that maybe, Oikawa can do that thing that Iwaizumi wanted him to do. The thing that he can't stop thinking about doing. The thing he wishes he'd done.

Four days after Oikawa's release, Suga does one better. He calls.

He calls after practice, when Oikawa has just showered and is lying in bed thinking about browsing the internet until he gets tired. Oikawa doesn't even know it's him until he hears Suga's voice come through the phone.

“Oikawa. I got out.”

Oikawa sits up, clutching the phone to his ear. “Suga-chan!” He feels lighter, knowing that Suga has been released. That's he's well enough to be out. “That's great!”

Suga laughs, a bright sound. Oikawa imagines him smiling. “It's good being out again. I started to forget what normal food tastes like. They didn't put enough seasoning on anything!”

“Seasoning?”

“I like my food spicy.”

Oikawa is surprised by this. He smirks. “Spicy, huh? That's unexpected, but I guess you're Refreshing-kun for a reason.”

“Refreshing...?”

Oikawa wishes Iwaizumi were there to hit him. “I mean, that's what I called you during our games. Because you refreshed your team!”

“I'm glad you thought so highly of me,” Suga says, sounding amused. “So did you want to meet up?”

“That sounds good. You're staying nearby, right?”

“Across the city, according to Daichi. So maybe we can grab coffee or something and go to the park.”

“It's still chilly out, Suga-chan,” Oikawa says.

“I like the cold. But if you'd rather stay indoors-”

“I'm sure a warm drink will help me just fine,” Oikawa says. “We have tomorrow off so, tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Suga agrees. “I'm looking forward to it.”

“Me too.”

When Oikawa hangs up, he's grinning.

*

Tomorrow comes and with it comes sunshine and a biting cold win. Spring still mixing with winter in all sorts of unpleasant ways, but at least it doesn't rain.

Oikawa bundles up in a thick scarf, knitted beanie, and fingerless gloves. When he arrives at the coffee shop, he sees that Suga is similarly attired, minus the gloves.

“I'll buy you a coffee,” Oikawa says.

Suga raises his eyebrows. “Only if you let me buy yours next time.”

_Next time_ , Oikawa thinks. He order their drinks: hot chocolate for him, because he still doesn't want to test the limits of his anxiety, and a vanilla latte for Suga. They head outside a few minutes later towards the nearby park, where the grass is still covered in a thin coating of snow. They walk along the cleared pathways, clutching their drinks for warmth. It's practically empty.

“How is it?” Suga asks after a moment. “How are things?”

“Good,” Oikawa says. “Iwa-chan is still the same with me, which is good. I didn't want him to change because of this. Practice is still the same. I'm just...better at not overworking myself, I think.”

Suga nods, taking a sip of his drink. “That's good.”

“And you?”

Suga hesitates. “I finally got up the courage to tell Daichi everything. And he didn't run away.”

“That's good,” Oikawa says.

“Even though I told him that it probably wasn't going to go away.”

Oikawa frowns. “You think it'll get that bad again?”

“I hope not,” Suga says, slowing down. “But I realized something before I left. Relapses might happen. This kind of thing just doesn't go away forever. Not usually.”

“That's...true,” Oikawa says, his mouth twisting. He stops in the middle of the path.

Suga stops too and steps forward, touching Oikawa's arm lightly. “But now we know how to deal with them,” he says. “I know what's going on now. I know how to get help. And I know I can heal. And so can you.” Suga bumps his fist against Oikawa's arm and gives him a small smile.

Oikawa manages a smile back, but it isn't just at Suga's words. It's at the realization that although there's a twinge in his chest, it isn't the overwhelming sickening feeling from before. He has already gotten better. Maybe his anxiety will never completely go away, maybe Suga's depression won't either, but he's dealing with it. He can manage it, right now.

“One day at a time, right?” Suga asks.

Oikawa nods and then grins. “You're so wise, Suga.”

“I'm just saying what my therapist said,” Suga says, eyes wide. “And you said some of that stuff, too!”

Oikawa laughs and takes one of Suga's hands in one of his. “True. And besides, Suga, you aren't wise enough to wear gloves.”

Suga bites his lips. “I forgot! I left in kind of a hurry.”

“So eager.”

“Shut up.” Suga doesn't pull away. Oikawa curls his fingers around Suga's hand, trying to warm the cold skin. “I'm in it for the coffee.”

“Are you sure?” Oikawa raises an eyebrow and leans closer to him, smirking.

Suga smirks back up at him. “I'm sure.”

“Okay.” Oikawa sighs. “Then I guess I won't tell you what I was thinking the day I left.” The words come out smooth, but Oikawa can't help shifting on his feet a little, nervous energy needing to go somewhere. Because Iwaizumi had insisted, “Just tell him, Shittykawa. Or even better, just do it.” And he had to admit, Iwaizumi was right.

“What were you thinking?” Suga asks.

“I was thinking about kissing you,” Oikawa says, smirk falling away and replaced with something much more sincere.

Suga's smirk disappears as well, his mouth opening in surprise or shock, eyes wide.

“I still am,” Oikawa adds. “I mean, maybe we didn't meet in the best circumstances but I like to think we know each other and I like what I know.”

“What you know,” Suga repeats. “You mean that I couldn't function?”

“That you care about other people a lot, and that you're optimistic even though it's not always about yourself, and that you keep fighting. And you surprise me.” Oikawa squeezes Suga's hand, tight. “I like that.”

“I...” Suga bites his lip.

“Now's when you compliment me,” Oikawa teases.

“Okay,” Suga says. He opens his mouth, like he means to say more, but then he steps forward and presses his lips to Oikawa's.

Oikawa kisses him back.

Suga tastes like his vanilla latte, and his lips are cold, a bit chapped. Oikawa wants nothing more than to take Suga in his arms and keep him warm, hold him, talk to him for hours about things that he wouldn't really talk about with anyone else, be surprised by him and surprise him in equal measure, be challenged and challenge.

Suga breaks away with a small smile. “I don't go kissing everyone, so I hope that's a good compliment.”

“Yeah,” Oikawa sighs. “It's...a very good compliment.”

Suga's smile widens, crinkling his eyes, more radiant than Oikawa has ever seen it. It warms Oikawa's entire body.

Then Suga moves forward, pulling Oikawa with him and declaring that there's more of the park to walk. Oikawa falls into step beside him and doesn't let go of his hand. It seems the most natural thing in the world to stay like this, side by side.

Moving forward, together. 


End file.
